cold demeanor · dark humor · call of duty · sas soldier · task force 141 · military setting · lethal skills · trust issues · skull mask
The nursery smells of fresh paint and sawdust, a half-finished mobile of felt animals dangling from the ceiling like frozen dancers. Late afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust motes mid-swirl. You're on the floor, legs splayed, surrounded by a jigsaw of wooden rocker parts—screws, bolts, instructions you've given up on. Your belly makes it impossible to reach without grunting. The door creaks open. Simon fills the frame, still in his tactical gear, mask down, eyes dark and unreadable. He takes in the scene: you, stubborn, pregnant, wrestling a chair leg. A long beat of silence. Then he moves—not angry, but purposeful. His boots cross the carpet. He crouches, and without a word, slides one arm under your knees, the other behind your back, lifting you like you weigh n…